


Nothing Good Happens After 2AM

by kaizumii



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drunk!Reader, Drunken Confessions, F!Reader - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Reader drunk dials Ushijima, Reader-Insert, Reaer drinks too much tequila, She thinks he's the pizza guy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Ushijima drinks his respect women juice, Ushijima is kinda dense when it comes to feelings, Wrongnumber!AU, its fluff, kissing eventually, timeskip spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaizumii/pseuds/kaizumii
Summary: If past 2 AM, it's probably a bad idea. So, when it rolls around, put the tequila soda down, call a taxi, and get your ass home. Just go to sleep."
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Nothing Good Happens After 2AM

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time posting on ao3, i hope you enjoy~

**If past 2 AM, it's probably a bad idea.** So, when it rolls around, put the tequila soda down, call a taxi, and get your ass home. Just go to sleep.

In his near dark bedroom, Ushijima's cell vibrates on the nightstand, clacking against the water cup for a humdrum melody resounding an off-beat triangle. With eyes half-open, immediately drawn to the source, he raises it up to see your name bannered, stretched across the screen alongside a photoed duo– him, and you with the loudest smile he's ever seen till this day.

He clears the sleep from his throat, "Is everything okay?"

From your end there's a lot going on. Indistinguishable high-pitched squeals and chants shaking off his remaining drowsiness. Dissonant, bass-heavy music threatening to combust his phone's speaker. Somewhere in between, he managed hallow traces of your voice in giggles.

 _She's at a club,_ Ushijima pieces together, _this is a buttdial._ For a moment, his mind considers the worst, that maybe you're in need of help– but the continued laughter, now mixed with tone deaf chorusing, quickly begs to differ.

"I'm going to hang up now–"

"Oh! Hello?" you chime croakily, having lost half your voice from all the shouting, "Sorry, hi, yes I'd like to order two pizzas, please."

"This isn't a pizzeria. This is Ushijima."

"For delivery." You concur, having only heard _pizzeria, this is_. "On the first one can I have extra cheese?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Don't ask a lady that!" you quake, stressing the vowels of each word in delayed reaction. Ushijima can picture your overdramatized stance perfectly; a hand pressed at the hip, squinted eyes, shuffling between legs to aid in strumming up a retort. "Nope not...drunk...m' just speaking in _cursive._ "

A very _you_ thing to say. He clicks his teeth. "The only thing worse than an excuse is one that is poorly conceived."

" _Ugh– God–_ sounds like something my best friend would say." You groan, eyes rolling behind its lids. "You prolly know of him. Ushijima Wakatoshi? Schwieden Adler's ace? Big fella with the Resting Dick Face?"

Not something you haven't told him in the past, if we're being honest. Ushijima stares blankly at the ceiling, considering his options, "I am familiar, yes." (I mean, it's _not_ a lie.)

Pinching your brows harshly and puffing at the chest, you proclaim in the lowest vibrata, _"My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. I don't drink coffee in the morning, I drink the tears of my enemies._ "

Your counterpart remains silent. "That's not really what he sounds like, but it's also _exactly_ what he sounds like," Your words slurred. For a moment, you're lost in thought, trailing somewhere silky before a cough from the receiving end brings you back. "Hm well lemme tell you a secret, yeah? Beneath all that muscle and smolder... and more muscle... issa real big teddy bear."

"Is that so?" He presses his ear to the phone just _a little_ closer. Lips pursing to somewhat of a frown. Not negative, by any means – but one digesting a statement that bemuses him. Noteworthy, because Ushijima isn't someone caught off guard much, if at all.

"Mhmm.Take it from me – Thee. Best. Cuddler." Your free hand hesitantly meets your mouth over thoughts yet to hear aloud. You persevere, "No one would think arms like those would be very soft – I didn't! _–_ but they are, 'specially the little crook of his elbow between his forearm and bicep... _Ah_ _yep..._ Honestly it might be dark magic, because, like, he's _that_ comfy. I could curl up beside him for hours _._ Sometimes I even pretend I'm cold so I can wear his sweater too. He smells so so good... Oh but don't tell him I said that."

"I won't." Ushijima rolls atop his bed, facing the space between him and the nightstand where you'd lay on these said occasions. _Interesting,_ and here he figured you just had poor circulation – not enough leafy greens in your diet.

"And his eyes– _good god,_ those eyes." You moan out in follow up, "I don't know how to shut my damn heart up when I see 'em. They're this magnetic greenish-brown that's just really nice to look at. Sorta close to, uh– olives. Yeah... The only kind of olives I like." You pause, grimacing at your own statement. "Actually. Can't even think to describe how stupidly handsome they are. So I'm not even gonna try – but when you see 'em, _you'll know._ "

He blinked. Stupidly handsome? There's such a thing? "Why do you need to shut your heart?"

"Dunno..." you hum, "I think it's because it gets a bad case of the warm n fuzzies, and I have no clue how to deal."

"The warm and fuzzies, huh?" He reverberates, almost in disbelief. Ushijima levels with the edges of his mouth pressing against his cheek, a thin smile slowly growing. He had half a mind to consider this was all a ruse to get him flustered. For what gain, he wasn't sure – but it's working.

"Oooooh yes. He's a looker all right. Chiseled-ladykiller-perfection. Closest thing to a damn crime. Ten out of ten would do laundry on those abs."

He couldn't help but blurt out in laughter – an uncontrollable roar that ricochets off the walls and momentarily displaces the volleyball accolades strewn about on shelves. It's a sound that sometimes shocks even himself, but he couldn't help it. Not with this newfound tone of yours that's uncharacteristically _forward_ and to a surprising degree, _raunchy_.

"It's a shame he wears loose clothes," you quip in a provocative tone, "...I should shrink his t-shirts."

"Don't do that." He's quick to retaliate. In the brief silence, Ushijima recognized his slight guilt. You two didn't necessarily keep secrets, and he wasn't fazed in the slightest by your proclamation (dare I say he was even... flattered?) But this was also your private, interior monologue. A conversation, he believes, is best saved for when you're ready and can think with sharpened clarity. At the very least he decides to reveal himself once more. This could all just be something to laugh about in the morning–

"But I also really hate him."

"W-What?" Ushijima rose brashly, twisting the duvet with his free hand and heaving perceptibly into the device. A bitter pill to swallow, those words. You **hate** him... "Why?"

"Oh jeez. Well for one, he's a complete pain in the ass." you mouth off, tone resembling either defeat or levity– he couldn't tell.

"I can't understand him sometimes. He can be so... Strange. Like this one time, I got him into chocolate covered _–hiccup–_ espresso beans. You know, like the ones they sell at tea leaf cafe? Well, he was so obsessed with them he bought their _entire_ stock. And I tried to tell him, he should just buy two or three then go back for more like a _normal_ person. But, now, his apartment hoards seven pounds worth of that shit. Takes up an entire kitchen cabinet– swear to god."

"Saves time and gas." Ushijima frowned. Large fingers drumming at his thigh while dissecting your latest soliloquy. Perhaps he could make sense of where you're coming from, you guys do butt heads with opposing perspectives, but something so frivolous surely couldn't be the tell tale sign of _hatred._

"I mean, it's not even that.Nuh uh. That stuff's trivial." You expand plainly, as if in his head. "He's hands down the most frustrating, stubborn buttface I know. Always overworking himself and taking on other people's problems like they're his own. I wanna tell him _'Stop it! You needa take care of yourself too, bozo.'_ But nope, never listens. And thenI'm the one that ends up babysitting his basic human needs. A grown man. How's he s'posed to fall in love with me if I resemble more of his mom than a friend?"

"What did you say?" Ushijima sat up a bit straighter, rows of teeth mashed against the other. A generous layer of sweat begins to pool behind his ears, already feeling the streaks running down the triangle of his neck.

"That he's a stubborn buttface." you echo mechanically, "I just can't help but worry about him, y'know? Like, I'll be a reminder to ice pulled muscles and get enough rest – honestly, I don't mind – but I know he's doing this all because he thinks _he needs_ to prove that he's reliable. It's so silly..."

"So silly," You huff out once more. The words roll lazily off your tongue, all the while pacing small rounds in the sardine packed nightclub. _Need air,_ you decide, shuffling against a seemingly endless supply of sticky bodies until your arms throw open double steel doors with a red-plated EXITsign. You're immediately greeted with a cool waft of earthy summer and acute tinnitus ringing in your ears now that everything's hushed. Likewise, Ushijima makes out the near silence on the other end of the line.

"I mean for fucks sake– the poor guy's too hard on himself... I know he's just trying to be someone his father would be proud of, but he has zero clue how many people look up to him. Like he's _so so_ good at everything he does. One of the best, already insanely successful. He's clever, like, even his brain is intimidating. And he's kind, gentle, but not just his actions... His heart whole damn heart."

Ushijima bit down on his tongue; he winced, but didn't let up. Not until a trickle of blood spoiled his taste buds. It was in response to the sweltering warm in his sockets. Tears, he feels tears growing over your words– how foreign and wonderful they feel pressed upon his well-crafted apathetic shoulder. Ushijima curses himself– he naively thought he mastered it, oppressing rogue emotion at a complaint arm's length.

"It's almost infuriating how– how perfect Toshi is," sighing out. You shake your head, at no one, then proceed to wobble towards the curb, plopping on the sidewalk. "No, he's not. Actually. He's definitely flawed– perfectly flawed. But he makes me feel safe n' I feel like shit because I never know how to return it. How to show him how loved he his, or how much I really realllly care about him."

"He knows." His answer is simple, forthright. Ushijima's not a talker, we all know that much, but he did consider elaborating with something grander (or more than two syllables at the very least.) It was something he'd silently consider when conversing in general– this itch of apprehension that he wasn't saying enough or that people wanted more out of him. **But not with you.** With you, he's never felt troubled translating his soul.

"I dunno know, Pizza Guy." you challenge, scuffling your nose together like the idea of so couldn't possibly be deemed truthful, "I can never tell what he's thinking. He's a man of simple pleasures, sure, but at the same time so– so complex and entirely unreadable. Just when I think I know how he feels about me, the smallest thing completely derails it all."

"Why don't you just ask?" his voice is low, more so an audible breath than words.

"Ha!" You scoff, stifling a hybrid hiccup-burp, "So you're telling me I should _just ask_ the love of my life if he loves me back?"

"A tried and true method." He muses.

"Yeah and a stupid one... What if he says **no**?Oh god, what if he says **yes**?"

"In my better judgment that's a question intended for yourself."

"Fuck that! He's just– This is all– ugh. I can't take what he's doing to me." The tail end of your sentence is masked in the compressed space between your face and covered palms; making what came out next something of a near silent frequency, "I needa abandon this ship, s'no way he'd ever love someone like..." _me_ , you think.

Ushijima's heart stormed in its cage, admitting the fistful of pique nagging inside, unsure of how much more it could take. His low spirits very evident in worry lines nearly overlapping, in the dejected pout. He, of course, knew what needed to be done to fix this, but not _how._ This is not how _this moment_ should have gone.

"I don't know what I should do," you whisper.

"Keep being yourself." Ushijima declares, forward and precise – that much was simple. "You also have a good heart."

"Thanks pizza guy." you relay, and he wonders if you're smiling. "Hey pizza guy?"

"Yes?" Ushijima accidentally mistook himself.

"There wouldn't be a chance that you're actually..." You pause– long enough it accelerated Ushijima's heartbeats, "My conscience?"

He chuckles, "Sometimes. If we're talking honestly."

"Okay... well if we're being honest, Mister Pizza Conscious Guy Sir, 'member when I said I wasn't drunk and I was just talking in _cursive_? Um... I lied. I'm kinda super drunk."

"I know," he emits a lengthy sigh. "do you need me to–"

 _'Thereeee you are'_ a foreign voice proclaims, barely coherent. _'Get back inside bitch we're doing body shots.'_ Ushijima had already heard the door shut through the line before your response.

"Okay, coming!" a cheerful song turned whisper, "Pizza Conscious, I don't really wanna do body shots. What I do wanna do is curl up in bed with Toshi and knock out for, like, the next forty-eight hours."

"Where are you?"

"Club Oak. The one on Delancey Street." You look up, briefly unbalanced by how small you are in comparison to the boundless space– how even smaller your insecurities must seem in comparison.

"Okay. Stay there."

"But wait, I didn't finish my order–" the dial tone clicks.

_He gets there faster than you can finish counting the tumbleweed on the road. Sure, they were moving in the wind and you kept having to start over, but it was still quick. It was 2:53 in the morning._

Something disrupts your focus, it hovers parallel to the moonlight making everything ten degrees blurrier. You whip around, a little too fast, to a faint outline of none other than... "You're not the Pizza Guy?"

He shook his head – _no, he's not._

You blink owlishly at Ushijima towering above. Then, the pieces clicked together.

Oh. No.

(Like they say, if past 2 AM, it's probably a bad idea. You should have just put the tequila soda down, hailed a taxi, gotten your ass home, and went to sleep.)

"Shit." you rasp, a rather benign thing compared to what's shouting internally. "You... Liar."

"I distinguished myself on the phone, as well as not being a pizzeria." Ushijima responds, as collected as ever that it's almost annoying. He crouches down to bent knees, leveling with your sat position, "You also called _me._ "

You groan out, a never ending note until lungs demand air. The ghostly white of your eyes and tomato red in your cheeks were all that made up your face. It feels humiliating enough as is, you can only imagine how bad it'll be tomorrow.

"It's nothing worth losing sleep over." Ushijima reads your mind. He lifts a single hand to rest on your shoulder. It presses heavy against your already tensed skin, but his heat radiates a certain alleviation. "Come, let's get you home."

"No it's okay– I'll manage," you stare down at the concrete, at two fixed shadows beneath the construction paper black sky. A defeated sigh. "You're not gonna leave me be, are you?" You add, he shook his head. "How'd you even get here?"

"I walked." He explains. (Technically ran, but minor details.)

"And how do you s'pose we'll be getting home?"

"We'll walk."

"Nope!" You snort, "No way, I've been dancing all night and these heels are sooo uncomfy. They want to _eat_ my ankles."

It took only a second for him to solve the predicament, "I'll carry you." Already swooping you up, one arm under your kneepads while the other is positioned on the small of your back. You instinctively flail to hug around his shoulder and level with the new orientation, one that's soundly pressed on his torso. It's embarrassing and _way too_ close for comfort but he simply brushed off your protests, marching off into the night.

" _Woah_." you hiccup, "Do you always see things from this high up?"

He silently chuckles, "What a prolific assessment."

"Pfft. _You're_ a prolific **ass** -essment." You mutter, then giggle to yourself.

"Am I? On top of a– what was that again?" Ushijima mocks concentration, "Chiseled... Ladykiller... Perf–"

"Ugh– nostoppp." Your complexion deepens on top of the alcohol's blushing effect. You swat the very arms holding you up, until his huffing chest ceases.

Most of the journey was silent, and it may have been because you briefly dozed off on him– you weren't lying when you said Ushijima's arms were comfortable, especially with a cheek nestled into the crease of his neck, and your slack body sandwiched between refined muscles. He's nearly reached your apartment when you twitch back up, "Toshi? You can put me down now."

"You're a feather." Ushijima defends. His head dips to meet your gaze halfway, noses brushing all too casually.

You shift uncomfortably, opting to focus on the surroundings. At hazy trees that serve as morphed silhouettes in the background. Delayed cars passing by, just a mesh of colors really. It's wonky and impaired and _kinda delighting_ and you're obviously still quite tipsy (and then some.)

"Did you have a good night?" He questions.

"I guess," You hum, nodding gingerly, "I won the shotgun contest."

"Oh yeah?" he furrows his brow, but there's a trace of amusement, "And what was the prize?"

"A polaroid on the wall n' a free cocktail." You hesitantly explain, only now registering how underwhelming the night actually was while your best friend smirked, "But it was top shelf, soooo that was good... Your turn. Tell me something good."

He pauses. It's a long pause, one that dares you to rescind the question because you're unsure of what he would say– if he'll choose _now_ to be the moment for criticizing your guttural confession. He's eyes adjust to find yours. They're shimmery under the street lamps, warm and inviting. At the same time they're entirely unreadable, but that's nothing new, "I love you."

You choke. _"What?"_

"I said, I love you." He repeats, rather matter-of-factly. His hooded stare grows attentive, they scan your pupils, patiently, back and forth awaiting a response.

"No I heard, but... _what?"_ Stuttering. Your tightened chest is about to monsoon out of it's rattling skeleton. Be that as it may, there's also a flurry of airborne butterflies in the pit of your stomach. Clearly overwhelmed. "Are you only saying that because I'm drunk?"

"No."

"Because of– because I embarrassed myself?" you cringe, convinced.

"No."

"Oh. Ok." Racking your brain. Up until moments ago it was a fit of resentment over your lack of filter. Now it's dead silent.

"And I'd like to kiss you." he announces, with incredible caution. His deadpan stare skews a bit _nervous._

"Oh..." You squeak. You clear your throat, "Ok..."

"But I will wait until you are sober."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The distinguishable fragrance of diluted oud wood is the first thing you recognize in the morning– you're in his sweater. The second is harsh sunlight, it was rather rude. You'd bury yourself beneath the comforter but a screeching headache argues that not even the slightest movement is a smart option. Hangovers suck, and feels like even your hangover is hungover– it's enough to demand all focus, until familiar teetering of heavy, drawn out footsteps comes to play. Always like a zombie when he's walking, you inwardly snicker; imagining your best friend, but quickly turn an icicle pale when... remembering _._ Abruptly, last night's events replay on a large movie screen in your head.

Ushijima is at your doorstep, his posture stands rigid but if you look _a little_ deeper into this straight-faced vacancy, you'll find hints of comfort.

In his right hand is a liter of gatorade, and in the other a family pack of Vitamin B6. He strides over to place them at your bedside table to accompany a jug of water and loaf of plain multigrain bread. He sits at the furthest end of your bed, "I was informed this helps with hangovers."

You snort, and your headache protests. He probably texted Tendou in the morning.It was very Ushijima of him– earnest, thorough, and still a bit clueless. He inches closer to hand you a single vitamin with water, and watches intently as you down the remains. Once you hand him the empty cup he offers a simple greeting.

"Good morning."

"Good morning..." you mutter.

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

"Yes," you admit, concealing your face with a hand while the other massages your temple, amongst other pressure points, "I wasn't _that_ drunk."

"You thought I was both a pizza delivery service and your moral conscience." His tone had no qualms over it, moreso asserting the facts. You feel a gentle tug lowering your hands, and comply much to your chagrin, until you're face to face. He sighs, "Do you also remember what I told you?"

"I do..."

"I really do love you." He emphasizes. His hand is still on yours, feeling the grip tighten when you try to reflexively cover your face once more.

"Can I kiss you now?" he whispers.

Your insides are continuously somersaulting, yet somehow, you muster enough strength to confess, "Yes, please."

He waits for a moment, but it feels like a lifetime. You're stunned frozen, nerves and anticipation manifest in a way that feel all consuming– just waiting for a gesture, for someone to pinch you, or for the bed to cave in and swallow you whole because _shit_ is this even reality right now?

It is.

First, his forehead finds yours. Pressing thoughtfully as the gap of air thins out until your lips brush against the fine lines of his own.

Rough hands gently glide up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps as it finds the nape of your neck. The butterflies ripple up your chest and fill your lungs as you breathe in the kiss from your best friend. It's better than _–_ the countless times _–_ you've imagined it.

Mouths continue to glide together, setting a pace of its own that matches the tender, intrinsic nature of your friendship. Right then you knew, _this_ will be your last first kiss with someone. His heart seals you away forever.

Ushijima parts from your touch carefully. His tone is soft, "I would like to ask you to be my partner–"

"Yes." you never answered something so quick in your life.

" _–But,_ I will wait until a proper first date." he finishes.

You cup his face in your hands, inhaling in his familiar scent, smiling openly. "I already said yes, silly."

He smiles back.

He plants another honeyed, open-mouth kiss.

And who said nothing good can come from 2 AM?

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!!


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